


Sabbath

by cabritinho



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Me? Writing fluff? I know. The world must be ending., Pre-Established Relationship, That's it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 02:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17459180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabritinho/pseuds/cabritinho
Summary: Sal and Travis enjoy a lazy Sunday.





	Sabbath

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one out of spite, bitter because Travis was being demonized to fuck-all and back recently.

Travis had awoken to the mellifluous chirping of songbirds outside. The room, otherwise, was quiet--tranquil. Lambent rays of morning light slipped between the blinds and descended upon him in a soft glow. It was Sunday, he knew--the day of Sabbath--and thus, he could indulge in the comfort of bed without the worry of work. 

Beside him, in that bed far too narrow for two, was Sal. Still enveloped in slumber was he, and Travis wanted not to wake him. The prior night, the two of them had been conversing well into the little hours, both of nothing and everything. They rarely had the opportunity to partake in anything of the sort, conflicting as their schedules were, with Travis's nine-to-five shift, and Sal's preoccupation of the preternatural lurking in the night. 

Sal was ever worn and weary from "occult hunting", yet, in the moment, he seemed at peace. His disfigured features were mellow with relaxation, his body without tension. The light delicately defined each groove and etching of every scar of his, thereon tracing the slight tendon of neck and the curve of bare shoulder. A hushed snore rumbled within him. 

From his scalp, a long strand of cobalt fell upon his face, and Travis could not resist to reach out and, ever so gingerly, tuck it behind Sal's ear. Brown fingers grazed upon corrugated flesh, but it woke Sal not. 

However, the frailer shifted beneath the blankets, ever so slightly as his slumber stirred. The hem of the blanket displaced from shoulder to elbow--but Travis replaced it, so that his lover would not grow cold. 

Thereafter, he rolled onto his back--stretched a bit. Combing his tousled hair from his face with his fingers, Travis glanced to the clock thereupon the nightstand. The hands ticked little past 8 a.m. 

From the bed he egressed--reluctantly, of course, as the chill of the crisp morning assaulted his formerly warm skin. Yet he tore himself from the blankets, nonetheless, and buttoned a flannel from the floor haphazardly atop nothing but his boxers. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to his lover's marred forehead, before departing towards the kitchen. 

.....

Blue eyelashes fluttered open, and pale, thin limbs outstretched, disheveling the blankets about himself. His consciousness was incomplete, drowsy still as he was. With a few bleary blinks, accompanied by the rubbing of sleep from his eyes, he looked onto the bed to find Travis was no longer with him. All that remained was the impression of his body and the wrinkles thereof. 

Then, and only then, did the scent of sizzling bacon pervade his senses. He presumed Travis was fixing breakfast, and thus, laid upon his opposite side, nestling into the blankets once again. He would bid farewell to the warmth when called for breakfast, and not a single second before, difficult as he was to rouse from bed. 

But there was no call, for Travis, instead, entered the bedroom with a tray in hand. 

"Morning, sleepy-head." 

Sal's reply was a grunt only half-alive. 

"Made you breakfast." 

With the temptation of food, Sal lazily hoisted himself into an upright position, acquiring a pillow or two for back support. Travis set the tray atop Sal's lap, and retired into the bed beside him once more. 

Sal's stomach already churned with the delight of readied hunger. The feast: fried bacon and eggs, toast with jam, a mélange of berries, halved passion fruits, and granola in yogurt. A cup of apple juice and a mug of coffee opposed each other at the furthest edges. To each side, a pair of fork and spoon--one for the each of them. 

"You're the fucking best." 

"I know," said Travis. His words lacked genuine vanity--his words, instead, were that of kittenish play. 

Travis acquired his coffee as Sal deliberated his starting course. What little that remained of his nose scrunched up at the sight of the bitter beverage. 

"Want a sip?" Travis inquired, teasingly, proffering the mug. 

"Gross. No." He stabbed at his eggs instead. 

Travis only chuckled beneath his breath. Upon Sal he leant, and though his blond hair tickled Sal's ear, the latter minded not--the touch of his lover comforted him far more than any blanket or bed ever could. They ate their breakfast, together, in peace, and planned nothing more than leisure for their Sunday.


End file.
